Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Time slips into a higher gear when I’m writing. Superchargers and turbos power time to a faster pace during that time. The hours flash past like Saturn rockets push it.
I’ve written a bunch but there’s so much more. The session is just too short, and ends too soon.
Sometimes, I come across something on the net that makes me pause and address my screen. “I’m gonna read this later,” I say. What my brain is telling me when those words leave my mouth is that I need more time and coffee to address whatever it is I’m facing on that screen. “I’m gonna need more time and coffee.”
The words I live by.
It’s hard to stop writing when it’s blistering along but the allocated time has skidded to an end. Difficult to push the pause button while editing and revising the other project when the timing bell rings to announce, move on to the next matter.
Doesn’t help that the muses are especially active, like they’ve been gorging on chocolate cake and chugging coffee. They just don’t want to stop and it pains me to tell them that I am.
I need a longer day or the means to carve time out of everything else going on. How much sleep is really needed anyway?
I had a strong and productive writing session yesterday. But being so involved, my sense of time evaporated. I found myself leaving the coffee shop an hour later than usual.
I couldn’t go directly home, but had to go buy light bulbs. Finishing with that errand, I jumped into the car to head home. By now, I was an hour and a half later than usual.
My phone rang. It was my wife. “What’s up?” I asked.
“Where are you?” she answered. “You’re much later than your usual time. I’m calling to see if you’re dead or unconscious in a hospital.”
“You called to see if I was dead or unconscious?” I laughed.
She did not.
I overheard two strangers chat a little in the coffee shop. One asked the other about the book he was reading. The other replied, “It’s Dostoevsky. It’s written as a series of letters.”
Poor Folk, I guess, sneaking a glance over. I’d read it, I remembered, wondering if that was the book he was reading. I took a minute to hunt down when I’d read it, remembering it was the summer of 1989, when I was living in Germany. I took summer college courses which addressed different Russian, Jewish, French, and American authors. Dosteovsky was one of three Russian writers.
Over thirty years ago, I suddenly realized with a mental thud. The race of time surprised me once again. I’ll be 68 years old this year. That just amazes me. It shouldn’t, I know, yet it does. It feels like just yesterday that I was thinking, wow, Dad is 68 this year. Gonna be seventy in a few.
And now it’s me.
Mood: sufficient
T’was the Monday before Thanksgiving, and all through the town, people were hurrying, rushing around, making their plans to have a good meal, or shopping online to get a good deal.
Yes, it’s Monday, the 20th of November of 2023. This is the last time that we’ll experience this day and date combo until three different things happen. One, time travel is finally achieved, enabling us to return to this date to see what really happened; two, the Recreation Society decides that this will be the day/date that is recreated as a do-over. But I know for a fact that time travel is still a few decades off and the Recreation Society won’t be here for over fifty years. In fact, its inventors aren’t even born yet.
Windy is the word for the weather in Ashlandia, where the wind is charged and sharp, and the cats are unhappy. After dipping to 30 F last night, we’re now up to 45 F under a flash blue sky and sterling sunshine.
Looking out and seeing no rain, The Neurons cranked up “I’m Only Happy When It Rains”, 1995, by Garbage, in the morning mental music stream (Trademark drenched). While it was a bit’o mischief by Les Neurons, who love pranking me before I’ve had coffee and I’m defenseless, I’ve always found IOHWIR to be a terrific sing along rocker. Shirley Manson delivers on vocals with audio sneers dripping with contempt. Terrific fun, and hard to resist as she teases, “Pour your misery down on me.”
Stay positive, be strong, and lean forward into that dark wind until we break through the other side. Pour some coffee down for me. Never mind, I’ll do it myself. Here’s the video. Cheers
PS: The third way we can experience Monday, November 20, 2023, again, is if we come unstuck in time. It’s been known to happen, although they didn’t know it at the time.
Michael Seidel, writer 